


Running

by donniedont



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Genderqueer Character, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donniedont/pseuds/donniedont
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kili spends large portions of life trying to figure out what dwarves do when they find themselves identifying with multiple genders.  A fill for The Hobbit Kink Meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Running

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the Hobbit Kink Meme. The prompt asked for: "Kili and Fili are raised in the towns of men, being taken by Thorin and Dis to safe places until work runs dry and they are forced to move again. All in his shame, Kili feels like he's more of a woman than a man, like his body isn't right. He shaves away his beard when he can, though, it's slow to come in anyway, and he... hates himself because he's not normal. I just want serious angst. Make me weep.
> 
> (Perhaps have Fili try to help him, Thorin not understanding, etc. but it's really up to you~)" As someone who IDs as genderqueer and went through a horrible bought of dysphoria last week, I politely asked if I could make it a more genderqueer reading of the prompt. I really hope that this direction is what the prompter wanted! And, of course, thank you so much for suggesting it :o)
> 
> Warning: This deals with cissexist language/ideas at times. It also does detail alienation/gender dysphoria. Please be prepared for these themes before reading.

You are declared a boy and are raised as such. Your family fills your hands with toy swords and war hammers as they sit you down and tell you stories of the great men in your line. They say that they started off like you, sitting on your father’s knee. Someday you’re going to stand tall with real swords and war hammers, making any enemy that survives you wince whenever your name is mentioned.

Sitting on your father’s other knee is your fair-haired brother, Fíli. He is the heir and you sometimes imagine what he’d look like with a crown perched upon his curls. There are times that you’re up late and you can hear your parents and your uncle talk about him. There are fragments in their conversations about his good heart, his endless patience, and his proficiency at swords. 

“He’s going to make a good king,” your uncle rumbles with a fondness only reserved when you or your brother is the topic of discussion.

Sometimes you’re brought up, as well. They say you have your mother’s temper and your uncle’s knack for archery _(not Thorin, the other uncle. The one who died a warrior’s death long ago)_.

They speak of you conditionally. Your mother thinks you can be the captain of an army. Your father thinks you can become a brilliant smith. Your uncle admits that he can’t be too sure.

You are full of potential. You can become so many things that will make your uncle’s voice rumble with pride.

Instead, you choose a path that even you won’t understand.

*

You stop connecting the word “home” with an actual house after you’ve moved four times in the first seven years of your life. You begin to stop unpacking your bags and your mother doesn’t bother fighting with you about it.

It’s just as well. You’re nearing your eighth year and your father announces that he can’t find anyone willing to hire him. There are several weeks in which you and your brother eat supper with your parents staring at the food going into your mouths _(You’ll realize this sacrifice years later, too late to thank your father)_ Your family packs their things and ushers you out of the house. You’re thankful that you never cared to unpack.

Wandering makes your feet ache. You know what pitch you can whine in to make your mother carry you. Your father glares in response. It hurts at the time, but you’ll miss it when he’s killed in a goblin raid several months later.

You live in a tiny shack on the outskirts of a village. Your father works every day until he dies. The death’s an unfortunate affair featuring him bleeding out near the hearth while you’re holed up in your room, your brother holding you close as you sob.

Your mother marches into market every day it’s open. She takes a week off to mourn your father and then she’s back at it. You try to help, but you’re still too small. You can’t even get her bags out of the house, let alone toss them onto her cart.

Your father’s been buried for several weeks and you are still trying to haul her items as she’s begging you to stop. She takes your small hands and weaves her fingers with yours. She smiles, even though it isn’t as wide as it was when your father was alive.

“I can take care of this. You have many years of work ahead of you, my love,” she tells you before she packs the cart herself.

*

It’s difficult to find dwarves around your age, other than your brother. At least until you’re ten years old and on the move again, making your way through the Blue Mountains. 

You befriend a dwarf named Ori, who is somewhere around your age, maybe younger. You like him almost as much as your brother, but for entirely different reasons. He enjoys writing stories about your wanderings through the woods and draws the different flowers you find during the springtime.

He calls you pretty as he sketches your lips in the sketchbook he refuses to part with. You’ve only ever heard that word used to describe girls, but you don’t mind.

He finishes drawing you and he kisses you on the cheek. There’s warmth that forms in your chest that you never felt before.

*

You go home and pull your hair back, wondering what your life would be like if you were declared a girl.

Would your life be so much of a perhaps? Maybe you would have everything planned out for you. You play with the idea when you have time to yourself. You wear your brother’s longer tunics and imagine them as dresses. You try new names until one finally flows out of your mouth with ease. Kís, daughter of Dís. You don’t realize how wide you can smile until the name flows from your lips. The warmth returns to your chest and doesn’t leave until Fíli’s knocking on the door, imploring that he should be allowed to enter his own room.

You bring your hair down and change your clothes before you toss Kís aside to let your brother in.

*

You’re eleven and you find yourself in a town with very few dwarves. The children ask for your name and you tell them Kís. When the little girls pull you over, you don’t say no. You don’t tell them your real name. You certainly don’t ask why they only play with dolls and pretend to have families with mamas, papas, and babies. 

You come home with a new doll and a flower behind your ear. Your brother and mother laugh. Your uncle glares.

You tell them at supper how you got to be the mama and how you were jealous that your new friends have skirts they can spin around in. You ask if you can have one of your own and your uncle shoots down the idea immediately. 

Your mother pulls you aside before you go to bed, telling you that she will make you one, provided you only wear it at home when your uncle isn’t around. 

Your brother is silent until he’s curled up against you that evening.

“Why are you acting like a girl?” he asks, his face burrowed into your shoulder.

“Not sure,” you reply, “I like it.” It’s not like you’re very good at being a boy, anyway. You like bows and flowers. You like wandering the woods and being called pretty. How can you be a warrior when there are parts of you that clearly aren’t meant to be that way?

Your brother says, “Well. I think it’d be nice to have a little sister.”

He hugs you tighter and doesn’t loosen up when you’re drifting to sleep.

*

Your mother has her theories about you in a way that only mothers can. She makes you go through schooling with your brother in the morning and when he leaves with your uncle for combat training, she lets you get dressed in a skirt she sews for you with the little free time she has.

When she’s putting it on you the first time, she shows you the seams and the construction. You’re still too young to entirely understand, but you listen dutifully. 

“I’m going to teach you basic skills,” she explains, “Cooking, cleaning, sewing…” She balls the fabric of your skirt in her fists before she lets go, watching the fabric swirl around your ankles. “It’s not often, but there have been dwarves that have been born with bodies of males, but acted as any other dwarf woman. I will support you if that is truly how you feel.”

“What if I’m not sure?” you ask, because you’re not.

“It may be a phase,” she says, “But it doesn’t hurt to know some things around the house, regardless.”

*

You are on the cusp of thirteen when you flee from this home in the midst of an orc raid.

You don’t have enough time to retrieve your skirt from the bottom of the chest in your room.

The house can burn to the ground for all you care. It can’t take away what your mother taught you there.

*

Your mother offers to rebuild you, but you decline

It’s not that you don’t want to keep learning from your mother. But it’s that other opportunities are presenting themselves in a way that you can’t quite resist.

Your uncle thinks you’re ready to train you in combat _(at least, that’s what he tells you. Even though you can hear through the walls that he’s concerned and that you need to be toughened up)_.

You don’t understand why learning how to swing a sword is something that you can’t do while still learning from your mother.

You don’t understand why you need to choose what side and why the side declared at birth is the one you’re expected to choose.

But you kindly accept the swords and you find yourself even more in love with bows and arrows and you wonder if maybe you just needed a reason to want to be a boy.

*

You think you’ve got your life figured out by the time you’re fifteen. You’re tall for your age and have potential as a great archer, even though your arms are still too short to truly see it in action. You haven’t worn a skirt in years, but you can help your mother around the house in a way that Fíli never bothered to find out. 

Your brother asks you what’s become of the potential little sister he was going to have. The one that convinced nearly every girl in town that Kíli, son of Dís, was actually Kís, daughter of Dís.

“I mean, I’m happy you’re happy,” Fíli says, staring at the ceiling one night, “I just wish you would keep me updated.”

The support is years too late, but you’re still touched.

*

You like your body enough. You’re leaner than most of the dwarves you interact with, which sometimes leads to teasing. But when you stand a certain way and speak with a certain pitch, no one quite knows what your gender is. Your mother rolls her eyes and doesn’t correct anyone. Your uncle’s face twists up and he nearly erupts every time, but your mother knows exactly where to rub his shoulder and make him ease up.

Then you’re around twenty-five years and your body decides to betray you. It grows in a way that makes your joints ache. What used to be wisps on your cheeks is now becoming a full beard. Your voice can’t reach the same pitch it used to.

You knew it was coming eventually. You’ve seen Fíli go through the same changes five years prior. He’s already grown into his features and his voice has stopped cracking whenever he tries to speak. 

You try to listen to shopkeepers, hoping that they will be confused by you. Hoping to see your uncle get flustered again.

It doesn’t happen and you feel that you have had a part of you stolen by time.

*

Ori returns to your life, because his brothers have wandered into the same town your family has in hopes of finding work. He still has a sketchbook and a love for wandering. The only addition is a skein of yarn and knitting needles that he shoves in his pack while he shows off the gloves that he has made around his hands. 

You wander in the woods, but it’s not quite how it used to be. You’re trying to actually hunt, in hopes of feeding your family or at least having some form of target practice. You also feel that you can’t possibly be the same pretty version that you were when you used to spend your time with Ori long ago. There’s no reason why he’d want to kiss your rough cheek or draw you anymore.

You sit down at the riverbank and dip your feet in the water. Ori joins you, carefully placing his sketchbook to ensure that it can’t fall in. He leans his head against your shoulder, wiggling his toes as he begins to sketch both pairs of feet in front of him. He gets the shapes of your feet down and sighs, leaning against your shoulder. 

The soft feeling of yarn is against your face, getting snagged against the coarse hair that covers your cheeks. “You ever feel born wrong?” Ori asks.

You want to say “All the time,” but it comes out like, “What do you mean?”

Ori sighs and looks away, his hand dropping from your face and folding against his chest. “I feel like I’m born in the wrong body,” he confesses, “I feel like I’m not much of a dwarf. I like to do things like this. Not… swing axes or go mining or anything like that” He rubs at his eye and you try to reach out, only to have your hand pushed away. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” he adds.

“No. It’s certainly something that happens,” you say, rubbing his shoulders, “I don’t feel like I’m in the right body, either. No, I’m pretty sure of it.”

He stares at you for a moment, his shoulders loosening up to your hands. “How? You’re good at fighting. You’re a part of the Line of Durin. What can possibly be wrong?”

“That’s fine. I’m happy with those parts of me. But I hate this body.”

“What’s wrong with it?” he asks, “Is there anything you can do? You’re not done growing yet…”

You grit your teeth. “I wish it never started,” you whisper.

Ori squints. “What do you mean?”

“This body…” you start, “It’s not… it changed. I hate it.” You feel your words clunk together. Ori’s forehead is furrowing with every incoherent syllable. 

You get up before he can respond, refusing to confuse him further with a situation you don’t even know yourself.

*

You go into the market alone and buy the materials necessary to make a dress. You hide the pieces under your bed and spend afternoons trying to subtly pull apart your mother’s wardrobe and try to deconstruct it with your eyes.

You sew at odd hours. Sometimes you can work on small parts of it when you’re out in the woods, claiming that you’re hunting. You stop doing that when you accidentally get blood on what was supposed to be a collar.

It’s not the prettiest dress you’ve ever seen. It’s not even the best-fitting dress, either. The bodice doesn’t quite make sense, due to your lack of breasts, for one. But it’s made by your own hands and it’s your favorite shade of blue and as long as you hide it in the right places, no one can ever take it away from you.

You complete it around the time your brother starts leaving home for months at a time, working at a forge and training under your uncle. You haven’t been able to look Ori in the eye since the time at the riverbank and your mother works too much. You’re impulsive and lonely and decide to head out to other villages, riding your pony awkwardly to not rip apart the skirt of your dress.

You’re still young. You’re barely in your thirties. You don’t even know what you’re looking for. The girls you used to play with are women now, worrying about their own their own affairs. There’s no need to play with dolls when they already have babies. There’s no need to pretend to have families when they actually have their own.

It’s not even like you can trick them, anyway. Your voice is too low, your hands are too large, and your beard is too dark to possibly convince them anymore.

You watch the women at the stands with jealousy as you buy yourself some shiny trinkets in hopes of feeling better. By the time you make it home and take the trinkets out of your pocket, they look significantly duller than when you purchased them.

*

Your mother talks to you about sex, but it’s not because she thinks you’re having it. She doesn’t know about your dress or that you haven’t really been able to talk to Ori alone for a few years, or the fact that you have gone to other villages and did nothing but stare at the women longingly. But she tells you, because it’s good to know. _(even though you don’t know who you’d be having it with)_

You’ve been too distracted to truly know what you’re attracted toward. You may like women, but that might be just you wishing you looked more like one. Men are attractive enough, with their rougher cheeks and narrow hips and all the other features you wish you didn’t share, but you aren’t sure you can bring yourself to be with them, either.

It’s just as well that you’re not interested in sex. With your luck, you’ll end up getting someone pregnant with a child just as confused as you. 

*

Fíli makes things look up for you, because he’s a great brother. You don’t deserve him, but he stays at your side. He makes you talk to Ori again, even though the conversations are not quite as intimate as you used to be. He asks about how’re feeling and even though you never tell the truth, it’s still nice to be asked.

One night you’re home alone with each other, your mother out to visit some friends. Your brother is feeding the fire and you’re watching the flames, wondering if you should start some sort of conversation.

He leans away from the fire and watches it for awhile. When it seems to be under control, he sits in a chair and says, “I found something a few days ago. Don’t run away. It’s to that I’m mad or anything, I promise.”

You finally turn to him, watching the way that your brother’s hair shines in the firelight.

“I was cleaning our room and I found some… things. A dress or two. Some jewelry. It’s definitely yours, right?”

You press your lips together and nod. 

He leans back on the chair and says, “It’s fine, you know. That you’re doing it. Is it like before? Are you still wondering if you are a man or a woman again?”

You don’t reply. It’s enough for him to say, “You should put on your dress. Mother’s going to be out for the rest of the night. Might as well take advantage of it.”

You finally say, “Oh. I can do that,” and disappear into your room, putting on a new dress that you completed that’s in a lighter shade of blue than your first one. You enter the room and your brother smiles, calmly continuing beginning to pack his pipe.

You sit across from him and you try to make sure that nothing’s wrinkled as you adjust yourself comfortably. 

“Are you still confused?” he asks, “Or… what’s going on? Please don’t tell me nothing. I know that’s always been a lie, but I’m not going to tolerate it anymore.”

You shrug. You tell him about wandering villages. How you are jealous and you don’t know what to do with that. How you haven’t really been able to feel anything toward people outside of your immediate family, and even then, you haven’t been honest with them. 

He watches you, patiently listening to every word you have to share as he smokes his pipe. The smoke curls from his mouth and into the room, only offering you some when you’re done updating him.

You take it from him and bring it to your lips, inhaling deeply. You exhale and add, “I still don’t even know what I want. I like don’t… I wish I could be in-between. I know my beard’s pathetic, but I wish it was even more sparse. I wish I wasn’t so toned at parts. I just… I wish I could just… be a man one day and a woman another.”

“I think you are able to do that right now,” he replies, refusing to appear distressed by you are telling him, “You went from a handsome to beautiful in a matter of minutes. You’re a bit tall… a bit flat. But you can be in-between. Especially if it’s what you need to make you happy.”

You inhale even more from the pipe and smile as the smoke escapes from your mouth. 

Fíli gets up, grabbing his pipe from your hands. “I’m not _that_ generous! You have your own pipe!” he exclaims. He’s laughing as he returns to his seat. “One question, though.”

You cross your ankles and smooth your skirt.

“What name should I call you? Are you my brother, or my sister, or… sibling?”

You shrug. “I guess some days I’ll be Kíli. Certainly in front of certain people, I’m always going to have to be Kíli. But some days… I wouldn’t mind being called Kís. I’d quite like it, actually. And just… I want to be your sibling. I would really like that. No, I’d be honored.”

Fíli rolls his eyes. “No need to be honored. I’m just calling you what you want to be called. It’s the least I can do, as your brother.”

The door opens and you both freeze up, Fíli reaching out to you. “Run into our room. Get dressed!” he exclaims.

You get up and you try to make it to your room, but you turn your head for a second and see your mother and uncle staring at you.

“Kíli?” your mother asks.

“What are you _wearing_?” Thorin gasps, grabbing your shoulder and forcing you to stop trying to ball your limbs to your chest and cover the bodice. He grabs at your collar and pulls you closer to him, even though you’re trying to struggle out of it. You can hear the tearing of the fabric you worked so hard on sewing together and you can hear your mother and Fíli trying to calm Thorin down.

“I thought you grew out of this,” he hisses.

“I can’t,” you whisper, “Please let me go. _Please_ , Thorin.” You can kick him. Your legs are certainly long enough. You can probably find a way to slip out of his grasp, even if it ruins your dress. But you’re frozen in place and feelings the collar of your dress choking you the slightest bit.

Fíli’s hands are over your uncle’s, pulling at his fingers. “Let them go,” he begs, “You’re hurting them!”

Thorin stares at him, mouthing the word “them?” before he nearly drops you on the ground. You want to be excited about the fact that Fíli found a way to not call you he or she, but you’re distracted by the pain surrounding your throat. You’re frantically running your fingers over the collar of your dress, trying to determine what you need to fix.

Thorin reaches out for you, much gentler than before. You don’t want to find out why, so you run. You run past him, past your mother, past your brother, and keep moving. Maybe you should just go to one of those villages you keep visiting. You can shave your beard, change your name, and find a job. You can free your family of having to deal with you. You know you should spend more time planning, but this is your chance. 

You can hear your family calling for you, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t have anything left to say. You make it to the stable that your pony is kept and you pack as neatly as you can with your shaking hands.

You wonder if you should have left a note, anyway. Maybe some kind of parting words as you cut yourself away from them. Instead, you whisper “I’m sorry” in the pattern of your pony’s hooves, hoping that it finds a way to your mother, brother, and uncle as they wonder where you’ve gone.

*

You get a room in an inn and try to figure out how much coin you have before you have to have a job. You tell yourself that you won’t be unemployed for long. You know about weapons and housework and you can certainly find a way getting paid for those tasks. You don’t have a family to take care of at the moment. You just need to survive.

You got to the market the next day and buy supplies to repair your dress and make a new one. You are even able to talk to someone about working at a nearby forge, fibbing about experience that you don’t exactly have. _(while using a name that you’ve only used when you were young, playing dolls with little girls)_ He says he’ll be happy to hire you and that you can start the next day. When you return to the inn, you realize that you can live here. You can work at the forge all day and come to a tiny home at night. It’ll be even more lonely than your life with your family, but you will manage.

You work at the forge for several days. It’s not your favorite thing to do, but it’s enjoyable. You’re told you’re a natural _(“and what is it about you dwarves and your metalwork? You’re these stout little things that make beautiful works of art!”)_

You’re even asked to work at the front, taking requests and interacting with customers. You enjoy the small talk that you’ve always been afraid to carry out with others in the past. You wish you could tell your family that this may have been exactly what you needed, but you know that isn’t possible.

A week or so into working at the front, a dwarf with a blue hood enters the store.

You watch him carefully, trying to ignore the golden trim of his coat and how the braids of his moustache twist when he’s walking closer to you.

“Can I help you?” you ask, your voice suddenly scratchy.

“I’m looking for someone,” he murmurs.

“Fíli, please, let me go…”

“You aren’t listening to me.”

You sigh. You haven’t fled your family home just to play pretend with your brother.

“My sibling. Sometimes they go by Kíli. At least, that’s the name our parents chose. But sometimes they go by Kís, as well.”

You roll your eyes and try to wipe the counter. 

He pulls his hood down. “I can give you more of a description, if you’d like.” He doesn’t wait for you to respond before he continues. “They’re a dwarf, like me. But they don’t wear braids. They’re a bit taller than me. They wear both dresses and pants, but not like how most lady dwarves. Sometimes they’re a man and sometimes they’re a lady, and there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just how they are. Anyway, they were last seen wearing a dress.” He leans over the counter, trying to make eye contact with you. ‘They ran away from home. There was a misunderstanding. Our uncle was… disoriented by their habits. The fact that they behaved like both a man and a woman. But… we talked. Withour mother, of course. And he realized that he wanted them to be happy. And if one day they want to be Kíli and another day they want to be Kís, he promises he will comply. _Please_.” He grabs you by your chin and forces you to look into his watery eyes. “I just want my sibling back.”

He doesn’t use any form of magic. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you finish your projects at the forge, resign, and pack your pony for the trip home, your brother waiting at your side every step of the way.

*

You arrange to meet Ori after you have a tearful welcome from your mother and bone popping embrace from your uncle. You know they want to talk to you, maybe even find out more about your journey into a new village. But you promise them you’ll be back for supper and they let you go.

You plan on meeting Ori at the edge of the woods near your home. _(Yes, your home. Not some room in an inn.)_ You can see him from a distance, his sketchbook at hand as he bounces from side to side. You’re wearing the dress you repaired, unafraid. You know that your brother is tracking you, ready to attack anyone that tries to harass you, even if it’s Ori. 

You march over, waving at him when he’s close enough. He embraces you, nearly lifting you up into the air.

“I was so scared you were gone for good!” he gasped, “Fíli told me about what happened about… you… _oh_. You’re in a dress.”

“You didn’t see me wearing it when I was running toward you?” you ask, a smile forming on your lips.

“I was just so happy that you were back. Didn’t really think about what you were wearing in the process.” He ran a thumb over your sleeve and took a deep breath. “Now I understand why Fíli suggested that I brought my sketchbook.”

You wander in the woods together, like you used to many times before. You start off telling him about the village and how you were somehow able to come off personable enough to work at a counter. Eventually, you talk about why you’re in a dress and how Fíli may be hiding behind a cluster of trees, ready to attack.

Ori nervously twists around and says, “Ah, you can come out, Fíli. I’d must prefer it…”

Fíli appears from an entirely different area than you thought he was located in and he sits kneels down, still eyeing Ori carefully.

Eventually, Ori waves his sketchbook around and he points to a rock. “You should sit down,” he tells you, “I think now’s a good time to start sketching!”

You smile at him and sit down, trying to figure out the best pose.

Ori begins to sketch and Fíli watches you with a smile that refused to disappear from his face. 

You try to look away sometimes, suddenly unable to accept the attention. Ori yelps, waving his hand. “Wait, stay straight, please! You look beautiful, don’t disappear on us!”

You scrunch up again, even though you know it will only make him more frustrated. 

“You’re going to have to get used to this if you keep dressing up how you want,” Fíli reminds you.

You cover your face and hope that Ori will let you compose yourself before he keeps sketching.


End file.
